


But that's the thing, you and me... We're never over.

by beautifulsolitude03



Series: Is it the way you thought it would be? [2]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smoking, quiet talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulsolitude03/pseuds/beautifulsolitude03
Summary: “Really, because you never drove me crazy, Huckleberry,” The words pour out of you, slowly, matter of factly. Your voice is a drawl monotone. Like you don't really care. Like you set fire to that Dorothy part of you, that soft, gentle part of you, until she was nothing but ash. So no one could ever mistake you two, for the other again. “You made me feel sane.” You enclose your palm over the flame. Snuff it out.





	

**

 _“When she transformed into a butterfly,_  
_The caterpillars spoke not of her beauty,_  
_but of her weirdness. They wanted her_  
_to change back into what she always had been._

_But she had wings.”_

_— Dean Jackson._

 

**

You draw purple cats. You dress similar. And you part your hair in the same fashion.

Essentially you’ve become Riley. Are Riley.

At least they convince you that's who you've been for the past year.

But when you finally concede, there is a new ache in your chest that's not like the rest.

And in this new pain is the lingering question; if you’ve been subconsciously copying Riley, who is the real you?

You're not sure.

You don't think you'll ever be.

**

Huckleberry makes a choice.

It breaks your heart. Or maybe it doesn't.

You're not sure because when Uncle Boing is around everything else just kind of disappears.

And the feelings he evokes inside you don't give you butterflies, don’t make you feel as if lightning bolts dance beneath your skin. But he makes you laugh. He helps you survive.

And for that he will always be beautiful.

Immortalized as the first boy you could ever love.

Should love.

But you don't know what you like anymore.

You don't know everything. But neither does he.

And the long game is so very far away.

You think you'll always be breathless with the need to catch up.

**

It wasn't easy. It still isn't. It probably never will be. But the two of you have returned to some semblance of normal. Or at least as close to it as you two can get. Since you two’s normal was a healthy exchange of witty banter, sarcastic comments, looking at the other too long, and caring just a bit to much to have only been “friends.”

The triangle has kind of reset your’s and his whole dynamic. You have to pause before you respond to any of his golden boy comments. Resist the ever present urge to poke fun at his Ranger Rick nature.

You try not to wonder about many things. Try not to think thoughts that could lead down dangerous roads. Shut out the fact that while you were “Riley”, your feelings were not just for the boy next door act. But for the Texan bad boy he used to be. When that flawed part of him jumped out. When the boy who defended his friends, because he was strong enough, because he didn't know how not to, emerged… That's was when your breath caught, and your heart stuttered.

That angry part of him took everyone by surprise. Except you. You had always had a feeling that there was an actual person underneath all that perfect. But he wears it like a second skin. Like a safety blanket. Like he's made a home inside this false personality. Like he never plans to leave.

Either way it doesn't matter. He chose Riley. You were never really an option in the first place. Even if he had chosen you, you wouldn't have let him go through with it, because as much as the Riley part of you had liked him, your loyalty, your love belonged to Riley. It always has.

And it always will.

**

The group decided to go out for a night out in the city. Riley is on one side of the street and Farkle is on the other. They eye each other seriously, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

They are winding themselves around light poles, racing to see who will get to the last lamp post at the end of the street first.

There is a wintry chill in the air that nips at your jean clad legs, and bites at your cheeks. Lucas, and you are quiet as you watch them. A permanent tension lingering in the space between you and him. Zay went back to Texas for Christmas Vacation and this year, Lucas had decided to stay. You kind of wish he would've gone too.

The silence isn't so intense, so loud, when he isn't there.

You lean against the wall, trying to burrow deeper into your coat as you pull out a cigarette. You look at it a long moment, contemplatively. And you know Zay made you promise to stop, said he intended to have you as his partner in crime for the rest of his life.

And when you mentioned there were millions more like you, he looked at you seriously, reached out and gripped your hand, “I don't want any replacements. I think you're perfect for the position.”

You want to keep your promise. You really do. But you can't. There's this desperate anxiety inside you're gut, this quiet fear that maybe he'll look at you. And this other thought that maybe, just maybe he won't. And you can't decide which is worse.

So you light it, take in a nice long drag, only to slowly exhale it out of your lungs. You lift your head, as you create smoke rings. Your nerves settle only slightly.

His hands are in his pockets, when he turns toward you with a raised brow, silently judging.

_I thought you quit._

You shrug. _Some habits are too hard to break._

“So, what's it to you, Woody?”

His face is unreadable, but there a hint of a smile in his voice, when he says, “Nothing. Nothing at all, Ma’am.”

You almost-almost grin. But before you can, your stomach drops as if you had missed a step going down the stairs. Your fingers are trembling when you plunge the cigarette into your mouth, look away from his quiet smile.

There's a soft challenge in his eyes that you haven't seen in a very long time.

And you suppose It has been so long that you should be floundering for a response. But it’s the exact opposite of that. And therein lies the problem. A million responses way down your tongue. And all are a betrayal.

_And I thought you had quit._

“Some habits have to strong a hold to let go of.”

You shake your head, drop the cigarette, stomp it beneath your foot with a little to much force.

Riley’s laughter rings giddily through the air. Farkle’s eyes shine with joy as Riley does her victory dance. The look a type that you can't name. A type you won't name.

Farkle Minkus is one of your best friend’s. And there’s this girl, Smackle, that simply adores him, and he really cares about her. But he has loved Riley (unrequitedly) since first grade. And he's too used to the sting, the burn of tender rejection to live without it.

You know it. And you understand. But, God do you wish you didn't.

“Go fuck with someone else, Friar.”

He looks almost stung, as his jaw clenches. But he does not leave. Instead he watches you, almost sadly. Almost heartbreakingly. That's the thing about you two, there were to many almosts.

“You always did drive me crazy, Hart.”

His tone is soft, sincere. It's not an insult.

Something warm blooms inside your chest so abruptly you're helpless to stop it. You realize he's close. Closer than he's been in a long while. And you never realized how much he had grown. How his face had a more masculine edge to it than the lovely boyish curve that his cheekbones used to hold. How his long frame looked a lot firmer, stronger than when you were just two teenage idiots.

You flick the trigger on your lighter. Trying to distract the stumbling, tumbling, falling motion in your gut with the wayward motion of the flame. And you let the silence drag on, as you ran your fingers over it.

After all, you were always the kind of girl, not who saved people from their burning homes, but who set fire to everything they knew. An arsonist who destroyed everything they loved, and danced in the wreckage. Bathed in the aftermath. 

 “Really, because you never drove me crazy, Huckleberry,” The words pour out of you, slowly, matter of factly. Your voice is a drawl monotone. Like you don't really care. Like you set fire to that Dorothy part of you, that soft, gentle part of you, until she was nothing but ash. So no one could ever mistake you two, for the other again. “You made me feel sane.”

 You enclose your palm over the flame. Snuff it out.

**Author's Note:**

> This quote belongs to the author, And in no way does credit belong to me.


End file.
